


The Wind That Shakes The Lily

by Barbara69



Series: To Conquer Death [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Brotherhood, Changed History/Bent History, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Reborn Musketeers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-07 10:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14078592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbara69/pseuds/Barbara69
Summary: An intermezzo to learn more about the relationship between Constance, Anne and Milady.Constance learns of her past and the Musketeers of things they are less than thrilled to hear. Friendships are revived, relationships are put to the test and discord and danger casts a cloud over the Musketeers' life. Instead of finally getting some peace, it would seem their world starts falling apart little by little...Following the epilogue inWhile You Live, Your Troubles Are Many, this story starts immediately after Richelieu left the office (and roughly a month before Grimaud makes a deal with the terrorist in Iraq).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the long wait, unforeseen events came up. Things never turn out the way you expect.... However, I hope you enjoy this little interlude!
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to fredbasset for the quick beta return! Remaining errors, typos and holes in the plot are all mine. 
> 
> The Musketeers are property of Alexandre Dumas and BBC One. No copyright infringement is intended with this work of fan fiction.

_LaFère Security, Paris, January, 8th_

Constance closed the door and glowered at the men around the conference table. “Okay. What? What is this? I want to know. Now.”

Uncomprehending eyes stared at the young woman.

“What do you mean?” d'Artagnan asked finally.

“What do I mean? You know what I mean,” Constance hissed.

The men shared a few quick, questioning glances.

“I discussed your behaviour with auntie a couple of times, she knows there's something off with you, as well. She's just too polite to ever ask or comment on it. I know that Aramis and d'Artagnan joined only last year, and yet you all behave like you've known each other for many years. You know stories and talk to each other of old times you cannot have shared if you only met last year,” she spat, glowering at the men.

“And then the names. Peter Capaldi walked in here, out of the blue and yet completely familiar with you all, and he called you Athos. Why? How can he know this is a kind of nickname for you when to everyone else outside this firm you are Olivier? And what was this talk about Musketeers, and that you still have an obligation towards the king? What king? Is this a kind of joke between him and you? Only, he didn't look like he was making jokes, and you didn't either.”

“Constance,” d'Artagnan muttered, but was cut off by the young woman.

“Why do you call the commissioner _Tréville_ or _captain_ when his name is Monsieur Peyrer and he's no captain but has a much higher rank? I've heard you addressing him like that repeatedly, don't deny it, and he’s never mentioned it. Even Monsieur Capaldi used this name, and one could wonder what business an English actor has with a French commissioner? And I've even heard the commissioner once address Anne as _Queen_. So, what in the Lord's name is it? What are you hiding from me? And don't dare deny it, from the way d'Artagnan often flounders when we speak, I know there's some secret you all share.”

While d'Artagnan was wriggling about on his chair, Athos was glowering at Constance, somehow hoping his grim face would be enough to scare her off and make her drop the interrogation.

Aramis rose and stepped up to Constance, throwing his arm around her shoulder in a familiar way. “Constance,” he said in a syrupy voice, smiling at her charmingly.

“Oh, don't Constance me!” the young woman hissed, wriggling free from Aramis' embrace.

Aramis looked hurt.

Porthos laughed lustily. “You should have known, your charm never worked on her.” Immediately after the words had passed his lips, he realized his mistake and creased his face, ducking his head.

“Constance,” Athos said. “We will give you an explanation, it's time anyway. But not now. We need to discuss---”

“No!” Constance interrupted Athos' speech, putting her foot down. She grabbed the nearest chair and pulled it away from the table. “I won't leave this room before you've told me the truth.” To lend weight to her words she sat down and crossed her arms, glowering at Athos.

Athos glanced at Porthos, who shrugged, seeing there was nothing else for it but to come clean.

Aramis, standing behind Constance, nodded his consent to Athos' silent question. He, too, saw no other way out of this situation other than telling her the truth.

When he finally glanced at d'Artagnan, Athos realized that he looked utterly miserable and Athos pitied the young man. The old conflict of whether or not he wanted Constance to remember their old life was visible on d'Artagnan's face.

“Very well, but I'd ask you to hear us out. What we're going to tell you will sound crazy and unbelievable, but you wanted to hear it. We'll tell you the truth, this is not some kind of hoax. Just hear us out before you make any objections,” Athos said, and then started his story. “You were right. Aramis joined this firm at the beginning of last year and d'Artagnan joined later that year, and we had never met before. At least not in this lifetime. Yet, as you so very precisely observed, we’ve all known each other for a long time, from a long time ago. We've met in an earlier life where we all served together. I know it sounds unbelievable and we all had problems accepting it, but it's the truth, plain and simple. I was shot in Afghanistan during an ambush, and when I woke up in the field hospital, I had memories of an earlier life for the first time. Porthos was stabbed and regained his memories, Aramis knocked his head. All these injuries were the trigger for our memories' resurfacing, and we later found out it was always the same kind of injury we had received back in our former life which caused the memories to resurface. What led to our deaths then stirred old memories now. And it keeps going on; Tréville, Anne, Peter Capaldi, my ex-wife, Elodie,” Athos enumerated with the help of his fingers. “The list of those people who lived a life before and were somehow reborn in the present time grows longer and longer. All of them being people we knew in the past and who were, one way or the other, related to us.” Athos fell silent to give Constance time.

Constance stared at Athos, processing what she had been told, her face looking more than sceptical. Finally, she said, “That's really hard to believe. You mean to say you're all reborn? You've all lived before? And all by chance at the same time and in the same city?”

“Not quite,” Athos replied. “D'Artagnan was raised in Canada, Aramis originally hails from Spain, Tréville arranged his transfer to Paris a while ago, but yes, eventually we found ourselves again in the same city at the same time.” Athos paused. “You said yourself that there are so many things hinting that we must've known each other for a long time, but there's no way we could have known, for example, d'Artagnan for years when he grew up in Quebec and only returned a short time before we met. I'm telling the truth.”

“Mmh.” One could see that a lot of thoughts seemed to whirl through the young woman's mind. “Let's presume I believe you, what time are you speaking of here with regard to your former life? You all died and were reborn in the same decade, right? Does it mean you all died around the same time in your former life? Were you soldiers during the war? Did you all die in one of the World Wars?”

Athos quickly glanced at his brothers. “No. It's further back in time, about 400 years ago.” Again, he fell silent to wait for Constance's reaction, which wasn't long in coming.

“Four hundred years,” Constance whispered in awe. “That's a long time. And you all remember this former life? “

“Yes.”

“And you know me, too, from this former life? We knew each other then?”

“Yes.”

“And aunt Charlène?”

“No. At least I cannot remember her from my earlier life. I don't think our paths ever crossed back then,” Athos declared.

“So, how comes every one of you remembers his old life but I don't? You must admit, that doesn't sound very convincing.”

The Musketeers looked at each other, silently debating who would answer the question.

“Athos just told you why,” d'Artagnan finally said in a hushed voice. “It seems you only remember if you experience a similar injury or illness like the one that led to your death back then.”

“Oh.” Constance stared at the young man with wide eyes. “You mean if I knew how and when I died in a possible former life, I could inflict such an injury to myself and I would remember?”

“Basically, yes,” said Aramis, “though no one here wants to see you harm yourself in order to regain any memory.” He took a seat beside Constance. “Besides, the problem is that if you don't know how you died, you won't know what triggers the memory. You'll only learn of it once you have the same experience in this life.”

“And we have no idea when or how you died, because we all died before you. So far, Anne was the last of us who died, and you came to see her on her death bed. She thinks you might have lived a long life and died of old age.” Athos stopped, waiting if Constance would connect the dots.

“You mean if I died at an old age in a life I might have led before, I won't be able to remember it in this life, not until the day I die?”

“That's the problem. We can and will tell you about your past life, but what we tell you won't be _your own_ memories. And that will make it easier for possible enemies to approach and harm you if you aren't aware of who they are. That's one of the bigger problems at the moment, because there are more and more people from our past turning up who are one way or the other out of sorts with us. But, above all things, we must hope for your willingness to trust us at all and believe the things we relate. Even if it sounds crazy and unbelievable to you.” Athos cleared his throat. “Believe me, even for us it was hard to believe once the memories started resurfacing.”

While Athos' words slowly settled, Constance turned her head to look at d'Artagnan. “What made you remember your old life? What happened to you?”

D'Artagnan was lost for words and started stuttering. “I, erm, I was, uh, do you mean in this life or the former life?”

“In both?”

D'Artagnan glanced at Athos, clearly searching for some kind of help from his older brother. This was definitely not going in accordance with the plan they had forged to never let Constance hear of happenings in past times.

“He was stabbed, and that was pretty similar to what happened back in time,” Athos said unceremoniously, and it had nothing to with wanting to hurt the young man's feelings but that it was time Constance was brought up to date. If she was going to hear the truth, there was no way to spare her such details. “But that's not the point here. We need to make you aware of people, old enemies of ours, who are currently posing a threat to us. Trust us and you'll hear everything you need to know.”

“Richelieu, who is Peter Capaldi in this life, but was the Cardinal Richelieu in his former life and the bane of our existence, just informed us of a new, serious matter that has arisen. Time presses,” Aramis added.

“This is all a little much, I think I need some time to process it. It's not that I don't believe you, but it's really hard to … accept.” Constance looked from one to another.

“Well, and no matter how much we tell you about it, if you don't remember for yourself, it will always only be stories for you,” said Porthos who had been silent until now.

“Maybe not,” Aramis added thoughtfully. “I just remembered what an acquaintance of mine told me. There's some kind of hypnosis that can awake lost memories. The police sometimes work with it, if victims are paralysed and can't remember what happened. It's also said to work if people want to remember former lives. I never believed in rebirth, and maybe still don't,” he muttered, falling silent for a moment before he continued in a louder voice. “But a lot of people do and the demand for such kind of hypnosis is massive, according to what my former colleague said.” He looked at the others expectantly. “Maybe that's something Constance should try. I could make an appointment. He still owes me a favour.”

After a short discussion it was decided that they would try it. D'Artagnan was not happy with it, but Constance was determined. If there was a former life she had lived, she wanted to know and feel and see before her mind's eye how her life had been there.

Aramis went to make his call and came back a few minutes later with good news. His friend had just had someone cancelling an appointment and if she wished, Constance could come by in an hour. “His office is in Coubervoie, if you take the metro you'll need at least half an hour.”

“I'll accompany you,” said d'Artagnan, his face clearly showing that he'd rather be anywhere else than going with Constance to unravel things from their past.

“Here.” Aramis grabbed paper and pen and jotted down his friend's contact details, plus the shortest way to get there. With a reassuring smile he handed the paper to the young Gascon. “It'll be all right, don't worry.”

D'Artagnan looked every bit like he didn't believe anything would ever be all right again once Constance learned more of their former life, but he nodded and took the paper. “See you later,” he murmured, turning to Constance. “I hope you won't regret it if you regain your memories through the hypnosis, but maybe it's really time you remembered some of these things for yourself.”

Constance smiled warmly at her boyfriend. “It is, I'm sure. Don't worry.”

Athos stepped up to Constance. In a low voice, he said, “I wish we could have saved you from this, but circumstances have changed. Be aware that when memories resurface, wounds can reopen as well. The roads we all walk have demons beneath.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As soon as the young couple had left the room, Athos fixed Aramis with a stern look to pick up where they had been before Constance had interrupted them. “Did you know about these things? Has Anne ever told you that she worked with my ex-wife? That she gave order to kill Gaston and whomever else?”

“No,” Aramis answered disgruntled. “We never talked much about what happened after Rocroi. I told you before, she said it was enough if I knew what could be read in the history books. She has more than once expressed it would be too painful to talk about these things; our son, her time as queen regent and so on. Cowardly as I am, I accepted it, and hardly ever asked.”

“Evidently, she had her reasons,” stated Athos, squinting at Aramis. “Could you call her and ask her to come? We need to learn more, this whole situation is getting more and more unpredictable and dangerous. The last incident with Grimaud was one near death experience too many for my liking. We need to avoid something similar to that at all costs. Now and in the future.”

“She's away on a day trip with some friends and their kids, I'm not sure if I can reach her or when she'll be able to meet us. She's in Versailles.” Aramis laughed humourlessly. “Isn't it ironic, she's showing Henri his former domain. Or maybe she wants to wallow in memories of better times...” Aramis trailed off absent-mindedly, dwelling on his own thoughts, then his gaze returned to Athos. “I'll call her.” He left the room to make his call.

Porthos and Athos stared at each other for a while. “This's not good,” Porthos eventually said with sobriety. “Aramis and you only just escaped death. And Anne and Henri being in danger again won't do any good for Aramis' mental health either. Nor will having to deal with both Louis and Richelieu.”

Athos sighed, deeply troubled. “I know. And Feron is also still somewhere out there, and we have no clue what his agenda is, if he remembers his old self and if he was working with Grimaud again. I need to speak with my ex-wife, she'll be able to contribute more to what we're dealing with here. I should have known that there's more behind her returning to Paris than the longing for familiar places. Has Elodie told you anything that could be of interest in this matter?”

“No, nothing I can think of right now. She left Paris a while after the war was over. It seems the Queen provided her with a generous widow's annuity and she was able to buy a small place in the Bourgogne to fend for herself and provide for her and Marie-Cesette's life. She never returned to Paris as far as I know.” Porthos halted, adding a moment later, “But I only met her three days ago, so I don't know for sure. I'm meeting her later and will ask if she knows anything.” Porthos sighed deeply. “I really had hoped Elodie and I could take it slow, that we would be able to gradually get to know who we really are. We had so little time together back then, and now it seems I need to speed up things just to hear everything from her past life. I don't like that.”

“I'm sorry, _mon ami_ ,” Athos said full of sympathy. “Let's hope she left Paris and never returned, then at least she'd be off the target list from whoever wants to do us harm.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aramis paced up and down in front of his desk, mentally formulating the short message he would leave on Anne's mailbox once the bleep had sounded. As he had expected, she had not answered his call; it had been forwarded to voicemail on all the three attempts he had made. The fourth time he had decided to finally leave a message. 

“ _Hola, mi corazón_! I hope you and Henri are having fun! Erm, I just called to ask you if, erm, you could give me a quick call when you have a minute. It's nothing important, nothing to worry about, it's just that Athos wanted to know something and asked me to call you.” Inwardly, Aramis cringed about the stammering message he was leaving on Anne's voicemail, and his cowardliness using Athos as a pretext. “Only if you find the time. Otherwise I'll see you tonight. Have fun! Take care and give Henri a kiss from me! _Je t'aime, chérie_.”

Mobile still in his hand, Aramis stared into the grey January morning, wondering if he should worry about the fact that he couldn't reach Anne. Half an hour ago he hadn't even spared a thought about the unusual time of the year Anne and her friends had picked to make a day trip to Versailles. He vaguely remembered some argument about fewer crowds and the short notice closure of the day care facility for children some friends' kids attended. Now, after everything this morning had come up with so far, he felt a slight feeling of unease rising at the back of his mind. Maybe he should have talked her out of it...

Tearing himself away from his pondering he returned to the meeting room where Athos and Porthos were waiting for him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aramis carefully closed the door. 

“Did you reach her?” Athos asked.

Aramis shook his head. “I left a voicemail message.”

“So, what are we doing now?” asked Porthos.

“Did you speak to Milady? She can tell us everything we need to know just as well as Anne.” Aramis slumped down on the chair beside Porthos. “She was the one who murdered Gaston, so I think if Gaston seeks revenge, it will be Milady de Winter he's looking for. Maybe he even never got to know who sent the contract killer? Milady wouldn't have told him, maybe he never even saw who killed him.”

Athos shook his head. “I couldn't reach her. And I'm sure she knows a lot of what we would like to know. I've still not found out why she quit her job and returned to Paris.”

“And why should Gaston bear a grudge against Louis at all? Louis wanted to reconnect with him, he even pardoned him. At least that's what I thought.” Absentmindedly, Aramis rubbed his shoulder where a dull pain bore witness to the fact that it was not so long ago that he had been at the mercy of Grimaud's torture. “Does Louis even know for sure that Gaston remembers his old life?”

“I don't know, you all heard what Richelieu said. These are questions only Louis can answer, and I'm intending to get those answers soon. But first I'll call Tréville to hear if he really believes that we should still have some kind of obligation towards Louis,” Athos replied with a growl in his voice. He couldn't believe Tréville would unleash Louis and Richelieu on them without giving at least a short warning. “Then we'll have to see where we stand at the moment.” He hit the speed-dial button on his mobile. The call was answered almost immediately. Activating the speakerphone function he said, “I'm sitting here with Aramis and Porthos, we have just had a visit from Richelieu. Did you in all seriousness send him to us, telling him we would act as Louis' bodyguards out of some sense of obligation and sentimentality?”

“No, of course not!” Tréville sounded harried and angry. “I merely told him what I've told Louis a couple times before. That it's not the assignment of the _préfet de police_ to augment the security level, he must turn to the _police national_ for it. And let's see how far that gets him. I offered to assign two additional police officers to monitor the area around his house more frequently, but there's hardly anything more I can do at this point, even if I'd like to. Which I don't. I told Richelieu Louis should hire a security firm, hire more bodyguards if he feels threatened. And so far as I remember, I explicitly told him that LaFère Security would not be at Louis' disposal for this, should he consider it.”

“Then he's playing his old, scheming games again. In any case, he had some alarming news for us. Did he tell you about Gaston, and the Queen and Milady's role in Gaston's violent death?”

“Yes. I didn't know anything about this, but it's certainly a point to consider, as is Gaston's appearance.” Tréville's voice faded and then only muffled sounds could be heard. Apparently, the captain had put a hand over the mouthpiece. A moment later, he was back. “Listen, I need to go, but we can talk about it later. I also need to talk to Aramis about the Marcheaux case. I won't be able to fly down to Spain with him, but it seems that the Spanish police is willing to extradite Marcheaux to France earlier than we'd thought, so maybe there's no need to fly to Spain at all. I'll get in touch as soon as I have a few minutes.” He hung up without farewell.

Athos switched off his mobile. “I suggest we wait until d'Artagnan is back. I have a couple of urgent matters to handle and a few phone calls I need to make now. Let's try to finish with what's on today and then we can meet again later when d'Artagnan and Constance are back.” Athos rose, pocketing his mobile. “Seems we have a new priority project on our hands.”

“I'll be out for about two hours,” Porthos announced, checking his watch. “We can meet for lunch if you like, I'll be through with work no later than noon.”

“One more thing,” Athos said, gazing at Aramis with a questioning stare. “Do you trust him? This friend of yours. Is whatever Constance remembers during her hypnosis safe with him?”

“Claude?” Aramis frowned, pondering about his answer. “Well, if you mean do I trust him that he won't tell anyone about what he gets to know during a session, then yes. I trust him. He's a friend and a good doctor.” He hesitated, adding, “If you mean would I entrust my life to him? – No, I don't think so. There are only a handful of people I trust implicitly, and you know every single one of them.” His gaze swept to Porthos; half of the people he spoke of were in the room with him. “But I'm sure he won't tell anyone, not unless he's forced at gunpoint.”

“Then we should hope that none of our enemies learns of his existence or at least of Constance's visit there.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

D'Artagnan had walked into the psychotherapist and healer's surgery with mixed feelings. One side of him hoped that the healer would be able to stir Constance's memories, to help her remember so that he would never have to tell her himself; it hurt too much thinking about all the grief he had caused his beloved one. The other side prayed that the therapy wouldn't work and Constance would leave the healer's office none the wiser. That she would remain blissfully unaware of how much sorrow d'Artagnan had burdened her with when he had left her and their child behind in a war-torn Paris. 

He lounged on a settee in the waiting room, flipping through a magazine without reading anything. He was nervous. For his liking, Constance had been in the therapist’s office for too long now. He couldn't decide whether this was a good sign or not. Either it hadn’t worked and the therapist was desperately trying to achieve something, if only to oblige Aramis, or it had worked and Constance was trapped in a world of sorrow and hardship and couldn't tear herself away. D'Artagnan groaned, briefly closing his eyes. He should at least have told her that she'd given birth to their child after his passing, or that that's what he had been told, for technically speaking he couldn't remember it himself either. Ack, what an intricate affair this was!

The door to the therapist’s office opened, and in his rush to get up, d'Artagnan dropped the magazine and stumbled over his feet, nearly toppling down in front of Constance. Straightening, he looked into Constance's beaming face. He frowned. A smiling face was the last thing he had expected to see, anger and disgust or disappointment was what he had rather envisaged. “Constance?” he asked, and now he could see that there were trails of dried tears on her face, too.

Constance flung her arms around d'Artagnan's neck. “We had a son! I've seen our son! I can remember him, a beautiful little boy.” She laughed, and then she sealed his lips with a kiss before he could utter anything.

D'Artagnan, surprised but not the least bit averse to kissing right now, deepened the kiss, shoving aside any dark thoughts. Only when he thought he'd choke any moment due to lack of air did he release Constance's soft lips, drawing breath before he spoke. “So, you're not angry with me? That I never returned to you and our son? I didn't even know you were pregnant when I died at Rocroi. I only learned of it last year from Anne. I had no idea. I loved you so much, Constance, and I'm so sorry I didn't keep my promise and return to you,” he whispered.

Constance smiled at him, tears dwelling in her eyes. “Oh, Charles, I'm not angry. I'm only sad that you never had the chance to see him. He looked so much like you! I'm so glad I was able to see him, to remember him.” Constance caressed d'Artagnan's cheeks with both hands, fondly looking up at him. “I've seen you in your Musketeer uniform. And Athos, and the commissioner, and I have seen Anne. Obviously, I have memories of this time, but they're buried so deep...”

The therapist had appeared in the door frame, silently watching the scene before him. He harrumphed. “We were able to reach those areas of Constance's mind where her recollection of former lives is stored. She experienced some of those hidden feelings and moments, but we only scratched the surface. Now that we have the assurance that it worked, I'd suggest you come back for more sessions. Today, we've done enough, we were able to breach the barrier holding back those memories.”

“I will,” replied Constance. “I want to feel and see it for myself, and not hear it through tales from you.” She looked at d'Artagnan. “I had no idea about it, it's so … exciting.”

D'Artagnan looked at her, his face earnest now. “Yes, but it's also dangerous. That's why it's best if you remember it yourself. We made a lot of enemies in those days, and some of them are showing up now.” He turned to the therapist. “I assume you're bound to a doctor-patient confidentiality, can we count on it that no one will ever hear of this?”

The therapist looked at the young man with a mixture of hurt and anger. “Of course, I've signed the Declaration of Geneva and am bound to it.”

“I'm sorry, but we've gone through too much in the last year, there are many people out there who want to do us harm. This is a very delicate subject.”

The therapist smiled lightly, possible ire already gone. “I know, René told me a little about the background, and also made me swear to never ask any questions and never tell anyone about what I learn during a session. He promised me the torments of hell if I did, and I believe him.” Now he grinned. “René can be very convincing, if he wants to.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Constance beamed at d'Artagnan all the way back to the office. It was obvious that the memories she had been able to regain had been of a lighter nature than the years of widowhood – or the years being married to Bonacieux – would be. Seeing her son, knowing that she had given birth to d'Artagnan's child certainly outshined any darker events she might have experienced during the session, too. D'Artagnan was grateful for it. He couldn't take his eyes away from Constance, kissing her hand which was firmly interwoven with his, again and again. He still was afraid of all the sorrow and pain Constance would have to remember the more she regained of her memories, but he was glad that she finally did. It seemed he was able to breathe a little lighter now when the two of them were together. And he would finally be able to hear everything about his son. 

“You must tell me more, everything! Dr Girard said that more memories could be triggered by stories I hear. He said sometimes a word could be enough, or some places I've been before, or a familiar scent.”

D'Artagnan mused about where exactly in Paris they should be able to find the scent of horse manure, or Musketeer uniforms soaked with sweat. A smile flashed over his face. “Are you hungry? We could eat something around the Pont Neuf. I'll call Athos and let him know that we'll be back a little later.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“What do you mean, you're not coming home tonight?” A queasy feeling started spreading inside Aramis. “I thought you said it would be a day trip and you'd be back in the afternoon? You said nothing of staying overnight.” He hadn't meant the last words to come out accusatory, but they did.

“I know, and I'm sorry, but we've hardly seen half of the palace complex, it's more spacious than I remember. There's still so much I want to see, the _Grand Trianon_ and the little hunting lodge Louis expanded. And we weren't able to visit the east wing today.”

A stab of jealousy pierced Aramis' soul, and it settled before he could shake it off. Her words hurt. He had not lived to see his son reside and thrive in Versailles, had no memories of that palace other than the few times the Musketeers had accompanied Louis XIII on some of his hunting trips when Versailles was nothing more than a minor hunting lodge. He had never felt the need to go and visit Versailles, it meant nothing to him. Not once in his lives had he set foot into the palace's east wing. Now he realised that with the sightseeing in Versailles Anne was reliving the childhood years of their son, the first years of his regency, Louis' rise to power and him becoming _le Roi Soleil_. And he was the one who was excluded from it all. He swallowed to get rid of the lump in his throat. “But where will you spend the night? Do you even have something with you for an overnight stay?” If Anne would reply that she did it would mean she had planned it all along, and therefore lied to him when she'd said she'd be back in the evening. He had to admit to himself that he dreaded the answer.

“Nanette's parents live in Rocquencourt, we can all stay there for the night, they have a large house. And no, I have no overnighter with me, because we didn't plan to stay, but I'm sure we'll cope. Nanette will find some spare T-shirts and toothbrushes for us.” Anne laughed, lightly and bell-like, and Aramis felt ashamed for his bad thoughts. “Don't be angry with me,” she whispered. “We have so much fun together.”

“I'm not. I'm just... I'm just a little worried. Grimaud's helpers may still be out there somewhere, and it seems a new threat is looming ahead. Richelieu was here this morning.”

“Richelieu?” Anne's voice sobered immediately. “What did he want? He really had the nerve to come to the office to see you?”

“He asked for personal protection for Louis.”

Anne huffed. “Louis? He's never giving up, isn't he? What is he up to now and why is he sending Richelieu?” Anne sounded angry when she spoke on. “Will we never get rid of him? Has this to do with whatever it is Athos wants to know?”

“Yes and no, but it would be better to discuss this when you're back. Just promise me to be cautious and always stay with the others. Don't wander off alone in the spacious palace gardens.”

“Promise!” Anne replied earnestly. “I'll call you again later when we've settled at Nanette's parents' house. I have to go now.”

“Okay. Take care, _mi reina._ ”

After some more exchanged words of love Aramis ended the call. He stared out of the window. The winter sun had already disappeared behind the city's rooftops, but the twilight hadn't set in yet. There was still enough daylight to watch the doves soar up from the streets and alight on the trees. The bad feeling from the beginning of the call deepened, mixed with a jealousy he only remembered from the time when Anne had been married to Louis.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Three pairs of eyes looked expectantly at Aramis when he returned to the meeting room after leaving to take Anne's call a moment ago.

“She's not returning to Paris tonight, we'll have to wait until tomorrow to get to know more about Gaston,” Aramis said lightly, trying to ignore the inquiring looks on his friends' faces.

Athos regarded Aramis intently. The look on the other's face and the tone of his voice told Athos there was more behind it than just the belated return of Anne and Henri. Something else was nagging at the marksman. “It can't be helped then, but it doesn't change much, we'll have to focus on Gaston's whereabouts. Any ideas how to approach the problem?”

“Someone should talk to Louis,” Porthos said.

“I presume by someone you mean someone who is not you,” Athos asked wryly, raising one eyebrow.

“Aye, that's right.” Porthos nodded

“I'll see what I can find out online about him. I mean, beside the facts you can read in papers everywhere. Do we know anything about his registered residence?” D'Artagnan already had his mobile in his hands, apparently starting with the online search then and there. “A fixed address would be great.”

“I'll ask Richelieu if he has such information and let you know. I'll also ask him to arrange a meeting with Louis. I can handle it alone, if no one else wants to join me for an encounter with Louis.” Athos looked over to Aramis.

Aramis raised both his hands defensively. “Don't count on me. I don't want to see any of them. Not now, not ever. It won't end well.”

“I only hope we can limit possible meetings with Louis and Richelieu to an unavoidable minimum. I fear nowadays I don't have the same composure that I used to have,” Athos sighed, resigning himself to his fate of being the one who would have to deal with the former King of France and his First Minister.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos was watching Aramis for a good while now, though he had not intended to do so. 

The reception area was empty, Charlène had gone home about two hours ago, and Constance had left a quarter of an hour later with d'Artagnan. The young woman had been in high spirits when she had returned to the office together with d'Artagnan, and the good mood had remained during the afternoon. Whether or not Constance would tell her aunt about her experiences Athos didn't know nor did he care at the moment. Charlène had never been anything other than trustworthy and discreet. If she learned of their little secret, she would certainly take it calmly. Athos suspected that LaFère Security's good soul might already know something or at least suspect a lot. Constance had been lucky to get another doctor's appointment early the next day, and Athos hoped her good spirits would continue.

Porthos had stopped for the day even earlier and left the office around five o'clock to pick up Elodie from work, as he had done every night since they had met. Only Athos and Aramis had remained working, the low illumination spreading a warm glow through the deserted reception area, keeping Athos in the shadows where he stood at the counter. He had finished the report for a CEO who had contracted them before things with Grimaud had spiralled out of control. While putting the report and a short notice about billing instructions into Charlène's in-tray, he glanced at Aramis' office, only to find the other man sitting at his desk, staring into the dark night sky. 

Aramis had not moved in almost five minutes while Athos had been watching him, and neither had Athos. He tried to work out whether the younger man was pondering the problems of the recent occurrences or if he was just lost in thought. He sighed and walked over to Aramis' office.

“Anything I can help you with?”

Aramis started at the sound of Athos' voice and turned his head, staring at Athos in confusion for a second or two. “You're still here?”

“Yes, I finalised the report for Monsieur Vargas. What are you still doing here?”

Aramis' eyes flickered, moving to and fro, obviously searching for an answer. Eventually, he drawled, “I was lost in thought, it seems. What time is it?”

“Past eight.” Athos was pretty sure he knew what had been on Aramis mind. “Are you worrying about Anne? That she might be in danger?”

The expression on Aramis' face changed, from puzzled to upset. “No, not really. Not until you mentioned it just now. Do you think she is in danger?” Alarmed, Aramis rose.

Now it was Athos who looked puzzled. “No. I just thought you'd be worried. You looked a bit miffed this afternoon after Anne told you she wasn’t coming home tonight.”

“You're right, I am,” Aramis mumbled, turning his head to stare out of the window again.

Athos waited. When it became apparent that Aramis would say nothing more, he heaved an internal sight. “I'm off then. Care to join me? I've still got one bottle of the 2006 _Château Haut-Brion_ left, if you need a reason to join me.”

A light smile played around Aramis' lips when he turned. “It's not a _Château-Haut-Brion-_ problem, _mon ami_. A less expensive wine from your wide array of finest reds will do just as well. And yes, I'm free to do whatever I want tonight. Lead the way.”

Athos nodded and turned, relying on Aramis to follow him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“She’s started excluding me from her life,” Aramis said, staring at the glass of wine in his hands. 

The second bottle was almost empty and, unlike in bygone times, between the two it had been Aramis who had consumed the most. He was slouching on the couch in Athos' living room and the alcohol was starting to taking a toll on Aramis.

“And now you're talking like a fool,” Athos replied. He rose to get more baguette from the kitchen. The cheese Aramis had nibbled over the last hour was not nearly enough to soak up the red liquid running freely down Aramis’ throat. Over his shoulder he said, “How long have you two been together again now? A year? Has she ever given you the impression she would not share everything with you?”

Aramis said nothing, either because he didn't want to or because he had no answer to the question.

Athos returned with more bread and cheese. “Look, my impression is that you two picked up last year where you left before we went to war. And this time without a king and kingdom breathing down your necks and treason lurking around every corner.” Athos slumped into his armchair, grabbing his glass. “Why not just enjoy what you have?”

“Because I have the feeling she’s not... I don't know. Telling me everything. Excluding me from her life. From the things she shared with our son.”

“Listen, since you two got together again you’ve been abducted and tortured twice, and you’ve been shot twice. She’s spent a great deal of time by your sickbed, more than once worrying for your life. Is she not entitled to have some carefree time? What’s wrong if she wallows in memories from past times now and then? Memories she can’t share with you because you were not at her side then. She spent a long time in her life without you, without any of us. Constance and d’Artagnan will experience the same problem, as will Elodie and Porthos. We must accept that the women in our lives lived on beyond our deaths, without us. They have memories neither of us appear. Don't begrudge her some happy moments from the past if she wants to relive them.”

“She's walking down memory lane, revisiting places with Henri where they were happy together. Maybe I would have liked to see those places, too? She didn't even ask.” Aramis massaged his side while speaking, grimacing.

“Firstly, there's still no proof at all that Henri is your son Louis, he could very well just be baby Henri, born here and now for the very first time. Secondly,” Athos pointed out with the help of his fingers, stopping Aramis from interrupting him by wagging his hand in front of the other's face. “Secondly, she is not excluding you from her life just because she's away on a day-trip with the girls.”

“She said she'd be back tonight, and now she’s staying away, even though it's just less than an hour's drive from here. I'm sure she’s captivated by the glorious reminiscence of the wonderful times she has spent in Versailles, with our son, maybe even with Louis, the rare times she accompanied him on his hunting trips then.” Anger resonated in Aramis' voice. “A time I did not live to see. I hold no happy memories of Versailles. I hold no happy memories of seeing my son grow up. I'm sorry that I can't wallow in memories of times and places I did not live to see. And that's why she doesn’t want me to be there. There's nothing to share there with me. Just leave the spoilsport behind.”

“And now you’re being unjust,” Athos said in an undertone of rising anger. “Even if we had not fallen at Rocroi and had returned to Paris instead, you would not share those memories with her. You would never have seen your son grow up the way you would have liked to, because at the end of the day he _was not_ your son. Never could have been. He was proclaimed king, succeeding his father to the throne, days before the final battle in Rocroi. Don't try to put a gloss on things that was not there. The only role you would have had in their lives is the role of a loyal Musketeer. You might even never once have accompanied the court to Versailles, if Louis had ordered you to remain behind. So stop being unfair. Don't blame Anne for memories she has and likes to relive.”

“One day Henri will be old enough and once he remembers me, he will be more willing than Anne to share his past with me,” Aramis said sulkily. “Do you not think I'd like to know how he grew up?”

“Aramis,” Athos said patiently. “If Henri is the reborn dauphin, he will never remember you. You can't in all seriousness believe that Anne ever told him that his father was not Louis XIII, right? He will only remember one father, Louis de Bourbon. Anne would never have been so foolish as to confide to the King of France that he did not descent from the House of Bourbon, that his father was a simple Musketeer.”

From the way Aramis looked at Athos, doubting and hurt, it seemed such a thought had never crossed his mind before. Athos wondered if it had been such a good idea to raise the subject at all and added hurriedly, “Will it not be enough to see Henri grow up now? You can make up for everything you missed back then. Don't ruin what you have now with Anne and Henri by reading things into her behaviour that are not there.”

Aramis stared at Athos for a few seconds, then he leaned back on the sofa, resting his head on the backrest. “Maybe you're right,” he slurred. “And for the record, I'm not ruining anything.” Suddenly, he sucked in air, groaning slowly, his hand coming up to hold his side.

“What's wrong,” Athos asked. “Are you in pain?”

“It's nothing.”

“Is your gunshot wound bothering you?”

Aramis' head came up again. “No, it's the left shoulder and the ribs, but it's nothing, really. No need to worry.” Abruptly he rose, grimacing. “I need to pee.”

Athos watched Aramis leave the room before he rose to get some painkillers from his ample supply.

“I didn't know you're still in pain. I thought everything had healed well,” Athos remarked as soon as Aramis came back. “Do you need some painkillers?”

“I played with Henri two days ago and thumped down on the floor a bit too hard. Twice. Three times, strictly speaking, but it will pass, don't worry. In any case, Grimaud made a good job of it, that much is clear. And yes, some painkillers would be great.”

Athos perked an eyebrow. “And since you’ve been in pain for more than just the last couple of hours, you didn't deem it wise to ask for painkillers _before_ you drank all that wine? For someone who has worked in the emergency services you know damn little about the interaction of alcohol and pills. Are you sure you want to take them now?”

Aramis glowered at Athos. “Just give them to me, okay?” He briefly closed his eyes and continued in a more placating tone. “I didn't expect it to get worse, I should have taken some pills earlier. Of course you are right, as always. But I'd really like a pill now.”

Hesitantly, Athos handed one over.

After staring at it for a while, Aramis put it down on the table. “Maybe better not. I've had a lot of wine, haven’t I?”

Athos nodded.

“I guess I should take it like a man and suffer heroically.” A grin formed at the corners of his mouth. Groaning again, he stretched out on the couch, propping his head up on the armrest. “It's not only the issue with Versailles,” Aramis continued their conversation from a few minutes ago. “I'm sure she's not telling me everything, she's hiding something. Not only the fact that she hired Milady de Winter as contract killer, but more. Why did she never mention she gave orders to kill Gaston? How many more might there be? After everything that happened with Grimaud or Rochefort, why did she never say a word?”

Athos hid his face in the palms of his hands, moaning. 

This was going to get a long night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Anne will be back around four, depending on the afternoon rush hour. I told her to come by immediately,” announced Aramis, entering Athos' office. “Shall I let Porthos and d'Artagnan know that we’ll meet then? Where's the pup anyway?” Aramis turned his head to cast a glance at d'Artagnan's abandoned office. 

“Constance has another appointment with your doctor friend, they'll be in later.” Athos regarded Aramis. He didn't look any better than this morning when he had gulped down two painkillers with the strong coffee Athos had served him. Athos' advice, to head home and stay there for the day, or at least lie down again for a while until he felt better, had apparently gone unheard, given that Aramis was leaning in his doorway now, looking even more miserable than the day before.

“Have you spoken to Tréville again? Will he come by later?”

“He said he'd give me a call when he has a minute to spare. However, I doubt he'll find the time to drop in today.”

“Aha. Did you reach Milady?”

“Nope.”

“Has d'Artagnan found anything useful about Gaston? A hint where he is now?”

“Not much, but it seems a trail leads to Switzerland. He'll tell us more when they're back.”

They exchanged a few more words, arranging between them any pressing duties, and Aramis returned to his office. Making a detour to the kitchen on his way back, Aramis grabbed the third cup of black coffee to help him through the morning.

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully with everyone silently working in their office. All were waiting for the return of Anne so that they would eventually learn more about what Richelieu had disclosed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I guess there's a difference in how you experience it. It may be less painful if you only get to see snippets of your former life, instead of remembering everything, the good, the bad and the painful. For Constance, it's thrilling to experience her earlier life, and the bits and pieces she gets to see during the hypnosis might not be as painful to her as it is for you, or any of us, to remember. She got to know that she was married to you, and that she had a child with you and seeing this child will have brought happy feelings. She will not yet have experienced the grief and pain of raising an orphaned child in a war-torn Paris. The hardship. It'll be something she'll learn sooner or later, so be content with what she remembers now and let her make her own experiences.” 

D'Artagnan sat slumped on the sofa in Athos' office, looking miserable. He had returned with a thrilled Constance a quarter of an hour earlier and had gone straight to his brother's office to seek advice. The happier the moments from her past life Constance seemed to re-live during the hypnosis, the more the young man dreaded the moment she would learn of the less happy ones in her previous life. The guilt d'Artagnan felt was written all over his face.

“Constance is one of the strongest women I've met, and if she's only half as tough as she used to be, she'll bear whatever is thrown at her in this life as well. Don't worry. When Anne is back, we can ask her to speak to Constance. Anne can tell her about the time when she raised your son, she can gently prepare her for darker memories to come.”

D'Artagnan sighed, not fully convinced by what Athos just told him, and rose. “I'll return to Gaston. It looks like he's in Switzerland now. Soon I'll know more.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Aramis already told you that Richelieu was here, on behalf of Louis. Louis is anxious about his brother, Gaston, who is the bad apple among Louis and his brothers, the family's persona non grata. Apparently, he's been seeking to gain influence in the family affairs of the House of Hannover for some time. Coincidentally, Gaston is identical with the historical Gaston, younger brother of Louis XIII and has more than once been in disgrace. Louis fears that he and his family are in danger, Gaston has started threatening Louis and other family members if he doesn't get what he wants. And Louis thinks Gaston might know about his past, so he thinks Gaston has even more reason to be angry with him.” Athos stopped to give Anne time to process what he had just said and to see how she would react. 

Anne had come to the office shortly before five o'clock with Henri in tow, straight from Versailles. Charlène had snatched the toddler and declared she would entertain Henri so that the grown-ups had time for their meeting. While Athos had been talking to Tréville on the phone and Aramis was stuck on a conference call, Constance had dragged Anne to the empty meeting room to tell her about the hypnosis and the memories she had relived during the sessions with the doctor. When d'Artagnan had joined them, Anne and Constance were talking animatedly about old times, the former Queen – glad she could finally speak to one of her dearest friends of old times – telling the young woman anecdotes of things they had experienced together in the hope of wakening more memories. Athos and Porthos had joined them shortly after and as soon as Aramis had closed the door behind him, Athos had begun to speak.

“Richelieu told us he has heard from reliable sources that it was you who ordered Gaston's death, executed by the hands of Milady de Winter,” Aramis said. “He also pointed out that if this was the case, you and Milady would be in acute danger, given that Gaston seems to be a very unforgiving man. What do you say?”

Anne's delicate features had blanched during the report, a frown forming on her brow. “Richelieu heard right. I had to get rid of Gaston before he was able to scheme another usurpation. He was getting too greedy and power mad.”

“You should have told us,” Aramis said, but was interrupted before he could say more.

“We need to know such things” Athos said. ”By now we know that we're not the only ones who have returned from past times. Rochefort and Grimaud showed how dangerous it is for us. It's important that we know of such threats before they arise. If you ordered Gaston's death and he knew you were behind it, he poses a threat to both you and my ex-wife. This means Richelieu was right. If we want to protect you, we need to find Gaston and dispose of him before he can do any harm.” Athos paused briefly before he added with a sigh, “And by doing so we're also carrying out Louis' plea to help and protect him.”

Anne gazed into space. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the issue with Gaston. I didn't think it would ever surface again. Maybe I had just pushed it so far to the back of my mind that it never occurred to me it would be of interest.” Her gaze flickered, her eyes moving from Athos to Aramis. “I'm sorry.”

Athos, standing opposite Anne, moved to the table, jotting down something on the notepad. “So, our most pressing issue is certainly Gaston. Find him, see if he remembers, and if he does, get rid of him. And then there's still Feron, about whom we don't yet know anything, and Marcheaux who might give us more information about Grimaud's helpers.” He put down the pen. “That's something we should be able to handle.”

“Erm,” said Constance, who had experienced a flaring up of old memories during the recent dialogue, her eyes drifting to Anne. Shifting nervously, she added, “Maybe we should add a few more people to that list?”

D'Artagnan immediately reacted to her statement. “What do you mean? Are you remembering things?”

Athos watched recognition, revolt and resignation flittering over the former Queen's face.

“Is there more?” Aramis asked, hardly suppressed consternation resonating in his voice.

“Who else? What else do we need to know?” Athos demanded.

Constance and Anne shared some meaningful looks before Anne's eyes drifted to Aramis, who was standing behind Athos at the window. From the expression on his face it was obvious that she should have told him, that they should have talked about all the things that had happened after the Queen's closest and most loyal protectors and her most trusted adviser had died. After the Queen had had to shoulder regency without Tréville's guidance, without Aramis at her side. She sighed. “After Tréville died saving the King, I had to make decisions.” Anne's hand moved to grab Constance's. Firmly holding on to it, she continued. “My regency was not easy, especially after I lost all my loyal friends. Well, not all, Constance was at my side, but other than her, I had no one I could turn to for advice on political matters. The royal counsel was suspicious, with a dismissive attitude towards me, waiting for me to turn to my brother. Threats arose. I needed to make decisions and protect the young King. I did what I thought was best at that time, though I'm not sure if every decision was wise. Back then, they seemed to be right.”

Aramis cleared this throat. “We understand that. You had a hard time at court even when Louis was alive,” he said, adding reflectively, “well, maybe _because_ Louis was still alive, but it's obvious that after Louis' death you had even fewer friends. And sometimes we make decisions that might turn out to be less fortunate or even wrong later. Though I'm sure you did never take a decision lightly, whatever ensued.”

“I had to protect my son and see to the well-being of France. That was all that counted. Nevertheless, I'm sure you won't like what you hear. Tréville should be here, he would understand. After all, he was the one who contracted her before I employed her services.” Anne glanced at Athos, knowing that he would be less than thrilled to hear what she was going to tell them.

Constance, who, only moments ago, had had just a fleeting memory of the conversation she and Anne referred to, had a sudden, sharp flash of recollection when Athos had spoken of their enemies of old, started to remember with each word Anne spoke. The hypnosis had set in motion a process she was not able to control or stop any more. She might not remember everything from the past, might never be able to recollect her old life completely, she had no influence on what memories were brought back, and when. But a word or gesture or action could conjure up memories that were to her like a dream. Squeezing Anne's hand for support, she looked at d'Artagnan. Anne's voice faded to a soft murmur, being nothing more than the background to the scene that unfolded before Constance's mind's eye like a dream sequence.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_“There's no other option, Constance. It needs to be done.”_

_Constance sighed. “I see your reasons, Your Majesty, but it's so dangerous. And then that woman. She can't be trusted."_

_“Tréville trusted her enough to engage her services. And I do, too. Go and fetch her, but make sure no one sees you. Please. I don't trust anyone else to deliver my message, I'm surrounded by enemies.”_

_Constance sighed once more, then she rose, curtseyed and left. She wasn't sure if what the Queen intended to do was the right thing. She only knew that the person the Queen had chosen to achieve this goal was the most hated and most distrustful woman she had ever met. In fact, Constance loathed her with all her heart. Nevertheless, she would do what was asked of her and deliver the message._

_*~*~*~*~*~*~*_

_“You summoned me, Your Majesty,” Milady purred, stepping out of the shadow._

_The Queen didn't turn a hair, but Constance flinched. Neither Anne nor Constance had heard Milady enter, it was unnerving how the woman was able to materialise out of nowhere, she knew her way around the palace's secret passages like no one else. Probably a remnant of the time when she had warmed the late King's bed._

_The Queen chose to not think about that humiliating time now. “I have a job for you,” she answered nonchalantly, regally, taking her seat by the window._

_“I presumed so, otherwise you wouldn't have asked for me. Who am I going to have to kill this time?”_

_Anyone else would have glowered upon such a blatant reply. Anne had every right to have her hanged for such disrespect, but Milady was right. The Queen needed her service and Milady knew it. There was no beating around the bush. “It's a delicate job, and no one must ever know of this conversation. Your life is as much at stake as ours. You'd be wise to remember that.”_

_“It's not the first job I’ve accomplished for the crown. Who is it you want to see dead?”_

_The Queen hesitated, looking at Constance for support. In moments like this, she desperately missed Tréville at her side, his guidance and support, his unswerving loyalty and fortitude. And Aramis' love and presence. She had no one inside these walls whom she could trust unconditionally, no one to rely on. Only Constance._

_Finally, Constance nodded._

_The Queen looked back at Milady. “Maria de' Medici and the Duke of Buckingham have to die.”_

_Milady's eyes widened, a flicker of shock and surprise flittering over her features. “You want me to kill your mother-in-law? I hear the Duke of Buckingham is the English King's protégé, what's your business with him?”_

_“My business with him mustn't concern you. I would order you to kill Charles himself, but I'm sure even you would find it hard to come anywhere near him.”_

_Milady showed no emotions, but behind her calm facade she was shocked to the core to hear the Queen speak such words. She would never have thought the docile, delicate-looking Spanish woman would have it in her to order regicide, even if it was not the first contract killing she had ordered as queen regent._

_“I'm not sure I'll be able to get anywhere near the Duke of Buckingham. As far as I know he's at the English court, I would have to travel to England for such an assignment.”_

_“He'll be in Paris next month to accompany Henrietta back to England, but I don't want him to be killed on French soil, or at least not in Paris. It will be a disaster for the political relationship between France and England anyway, the more so if he dies on French soil.”_

_“You mean the non-existent relationship” Milady said mockingly. “I heard the relationship between France and England is frigid, to put it mildly.”_

_“You hear a lot, it seems,” the Queen replied frostily and rose, walking over to her writing table. “Don't concern yourself with the political intrigues or the reasons behind my decisions. All you need to do is carry out the order without delay.”_

_“May I at least get to know why de' Medici and the Duke of Buckingham have to die? What have they done to incur Your Majesty's wrath?”_

_Anne studied Milady, weighing her words. She was nothing more than a hired contract killer, not here to get an insight of the political scheming and intrigues at court. She was an underling, even though a dangerous one, who had to obey orders without questioning. Yet, Anne had the feeling it might be wise to make known the reasons why both had to be disposed of. As much as she despised this woman for the role she had played in her humiliation while Louis had still been alive she had to admit that Milady de Winter was neither foolish nor careless._

_“I must protect my son. Maria de' Medici is planning to claim the throne, with the help and support of none other than the English king. Charles thinks I'm weak and incapable of ruling this country. He thinks he has a God given right to rule this land anyway. He would rather die than see France fall into Spanish hands, he hates Philip even more than Louis did. And it seems nowadays_ everyone _thinks it's only a matter of time until I hand over the power over France to my brother without hesitation. Charles will do everything to seize power over France. I have no doubt he has already signed the death-warrant for my son and I.“ Anne had spoken louder than before, rage boiling inside her like a living thing. “I must protect my son, and France, at all costs. You must succeed! Buckingham is Charles right hand, he will already have set in motion plans for our murders. With Buckingham dead, Charles will have to rethink his strategy and find someone else who is capable of commanding willing men to disempower and kill a foreign sovereign. I'm sure Maria de' Medici has already gathered a high number of men who think they still owe her allegiance, and I have no doubt they are all ready for the planned coup d'état. With Buckingham and Maria gone, they will have to start all over again if they want to seize power from me, and it will show Charles that I'm someone not to be underestimated.”_

_“My god,” escaped Milady's lips before she could hold the words back. She looked at the Queen, long and intensely. Out of nowhere she felt the irrational urge to bow to this woman and swear_ her _allegiance. This woman who was, after all, still her sovereign. Not that she had ever cared for that fact. She chased away that silly thought but couldn't help acknowledging the strength she had never expected to find in Anne of Austria._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You're not serious.”

The men stared at Anne, surprise, shock and disbelief on their faces. Athos had voiced what everyone thought.

Anne frowned, then her astonishment turned into anger. “Is it a problem for you that I hired your ex-wife to do what had to be done? I inherited the service of Milady de Winter from Tréville. He didn't hesitate for one minute to employ her service for the benefit of France, so I don't see any reason why.....” Anne was interrupted by Athos.

“No, I mean.... Buckingham? Really? Maria de' Medici, that was you? You're responsible for their deaths? You are the one behind the murders?”

Regaining her composure, Anne nodded. “Yes. I gave order to have both killed.”

“Protect our son? What do you mean by that? Was there more than one attempt on his life?” Aramis looked deeply hurt at what they had just heard, though it was probably less for the reason that his former lover had been involved in the deaths of Maria de' Medici and Lord Buckingham, but more because it involved the safety of the young King.

“I remember,” Constance muttered before Anne could reply. She looked at Aramis, then to Anne. Uncertainly, she continued, “There had already been rumours that there was more Spanish blood running through the dauphin's veins than was supposed to due to his mother's Spanish heritage. Rumours that he was not from the line of Bourbon. Gossip that he had illegitimately ascended the throne.”

Anne nodded. “I was sure Maria de' Medici was responsible for these rumours, though I never found out what exactly she knew.”

“The Musketeers. They had found out something?” Constance furrowed her brow. Shrugging her shoulder, she added, “Or maybe not. I can't remember, it was just a sudden inspiration.”

“No, you're right. There had been a murder attempt on the King’s life a few weeks earlier. One or two of the attackers survived and were questioned by the Musketeers. Brujon was convinced the men had been paid by my mother-in-law, though he could never prove it. And men who were assumed to be working for Buckingham were seen with Maria's spies. There was a growing number of people openly calling for a French-blooded regent. And then I got help from the most unexpected side. Henrietta.”

“Henrietta?” Porthos asked, uncomprehending.

“Louis' sister, my sister-in-law. She had been married to King Charles years before and returned to France for Louis' funeral and the coronation ceremony for the first time since her marriage. She hated her mother almost as much as I did and told me of plans that her mother intended to claim the French throne again, with the help of the English king. King Charles supported her unequivocally but hesitated to openly back those plans. The Duke of Buckingham as his closest adviser was entrusted to take care of everything.”

A moment of silence followed, everyone mulling over what they had just heard until Aramis spoke again. “And you not once thought of telling us about this all? Telling _me_ of these things?”

“There hadn't been a reason for it so far.” Anne raised her chin in defence of her decisions.

“Oh, I see. And Athos and I nearly getting killed by Grimaud was no reason to rethink keeping such secrets? How can we protect you if we don't know what enemies we're dealing with? How should we know whom to be aware of if we have no clue who else might be after us?” Aramis growled at Anne.

“I thought there was no need for it. None of you had anything to do with the decisions I made then. They were my enemies, not yours.” For the first time when talking to Aramis there was a hint of anger in the former Queen's voice, an air of defiance surrounding her. ”I did what had to be done to assure our son's future.”

“And what of Henri's future? How can we keep him safe and out of harm's way if more and more old enemies turn up, seeking revenge? We need to know these things!”

Barely restraining herself, Anne answered in a low voice, “You've not the first idea how hard it was, standing alone against a council full of autocratic aristocrats craving power, not even trying to hide the hate and disdain they felt for a Spanish-born regent.”

“Maybe we should stop blaming each other for things nobody can change. What we need to do now is concentrate on the facts we know and try to find a solution. It's certainly more information than I had hoped for, but on the other hand it's nothing we can't tackle.” Athos looked around, hoping his words would help ease the situation. “Let's sit down and find out what we can do.”

“I think that's a good idea,” said Porthos, slumping down on the nearest chair.

Everyone started moving chairs, one after another taking a seat around the table. Only Aramis remained standing by the windows. Suddenly, without a word, he stormed out of the room.

Porthos quickly glance at Athos before he rose. With a sigh, he went after Aramis.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aramis headed for his office but stopped abruptly when he saw Henri playing on the floor with Charlène. He watched them. Charlène, making a wrong assumption, turned her head and signalled that everything was under control, that Henri was happy and occupied and that there was no need to interrupt their meeting. When Aramis heard the door to the meeting room open again, he moved, quickly walking to his office. 

“Aramis,” Porthos called, following his friend. “What’s wrong? Why are you so angry with her?”

With another glance towards Charlène and Henri, Aramis grabbed Porthos by the shoulder, dragging him inside the room and closed the door. “What’s wrong?” Aramis spat. “She kept all these secrets, yet she must have known how dangerous it is hiding this from us. Why didn’t she at least tell me? I nearly died by Grimaud’s hands not even four weeks ago and now she’s telling us there are many more old enemies we didn't know anything about? Don’t we already have enough bloodhounds on our trail?”

“I don’t know whether she hoped this would never affect any of us in this life or if she felt miserable about the decisions she had to make. I'm sure she has her reasons for not telling anyone and it was certainly damned hard to make those decisions at all, and none of us were there for support and guidance. But what I know is that she was only trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Aramis mocked. “You don't say. It seems it hasn't worked well with Grimaud.”

“Protect yourself from you,” Portos growled.

Aramis was taken aback. “From me? How? By not telling me anything of possible dangers? I can very well do without it! You know how dangerous Maria de' Medici was back then. And even planning regicide? I wouldn’t forget about it, not in a thousand years. So tell me how she planned to protect any of us by not telling the truth.”

“She never gave order for regicide, she only thought about the possibility. King Charles will never have heard even a whisper about any plans. And _he_ was the one who had already approved Anne and her son's elimination, so he really would be wise to keep quiet. But that's not the point!”

“Oh, and what's the point then?” Aramis hissed. He had talked himself into rage, barely able to keep his voice low any more.

“The point is that she knows you well. She knew you would blame yourself again for not being there for her and your son when they would have needed you most. For leaving them alone, even if you damn well know neither of us had any choice. If we had been able, if it had been within our power, every single one of us would have gone home after the war. Alive. It was a capricious and cruel fate that we had to die on the very day that ended the war. But it can't be changed. And hard times call for hard measures. If Tréville had been there, if _we_ had been there, any of us would have made the very same decision, we would have ridden off to kill the English king personally without batting an eye. You know this. The only difference is that we weren’t there and she needed to make up her mind on her own. And that's why she never said a word. She knew how this would niggle and eat away at you once you heard everything.”

Aramis stared at his friend, the things the other had said slowly settling. “You're right,” he said finally, his voice void of any emotion. “I should have been there. It adds to the long list of failures and wrong decisions in my life. She can't be blamed for anything, it's I who failed.” He stepped past Porthos, opening the door. “I need to get some fresh air.” With a few quick strides he was past Henri and Charlène, not even casting a glance at them, and out of the door.

Porthos watched him go, knowing it would be a fruitless effort to follow him. He would not listen to any argumentation now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aramis stepped out of the door, for a moment halting on the threshold to button his jacket and to decide which direction to take. He turned right to follow Rue Lagrange down to the Seine, turning up the collar of his coat against the cold. If one looked close enough, a slight limp in Aramis' gait was discernible, a remnant from his latest encounter with Grimaud, not healing as well as Aramis hoped for and tried to make others believe. A dull pain in his upper thigh haunted him from time to time and if this was the case, unbeknownst to himself he then started dragging his leg. What he was also unaware of was the shadow that left the safe cover of a dark gateway a few metres away from LaFère Security on the opposite side of the street. A shadow that started following Aramis along Rue Lagrange, keeping a safe distance between the Musketeer and itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my knowledge Maria de' Medici was not murdered but died alone and impoverished 1642 in exile in Cologne in The Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, the only land she had turned to that was willing to harbour the exiled former Queen of France. Prior to her death, she had lived at the English Court, but eventually King Charles I (who was married to Maria's daughter Henriette) asked her to leave England because of the hostilities he experienced, not least because he hosted the exiled Maria de' Medici. After leaving England, the Spanish King Philip IV (who was married to Maria's daughter Isabella) denied her request to return to the Spanish Netherlands, therefore she had to seek refuge elsewhere. For this story, she lived a few years longer and was still in close contact with King Charles I, planning another coup d'état together with him, and was finally murdered by Milady de Winter in 1645.
> 
> George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham, was stabbed to death in 1628 by John Felton. For this story, we disregard this fact and assume that he lived for a few more years and was murdered around 1645 by Milady de Winter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter!

“Where's Aramis?” Athos demanded when Porthos returned to the meeting room.

Constance and d'Artagnan were talking quietly to each other, their heads together, but Anne looked at Porthos full of expectation.

“He went for a walk, he needs to clear his head.” Porthos stared at Athos in a way that answered further questions as well.

Athos turned to Anne, shrugging his shoulders apologetically. “Thank you again for coming by so quickly and sharing the information with us. I know it will not be easy, but we really need the names of every man and woman who might have a problem with you due to decisions you made as queen regent.” His words were a euphemism for the death list he was asking for, a list with the names of people his ex-wife had murdered by order of the queen regent.

Anne knew exactly what Athos was asking for and nodded. “I'll write down the names, at least those I can remember. Though I really don't think many or even any of them will pose a danger. Most of them will never have known what happened to them at all, and even less might have guessed who had ordered their death. At least that's what I always assumed.”

“So there really are many more?” asked d'Artagnan curiously, unsuspecting. A kick to his shin, courtesy of Constance, made him close his mouth abruptly before he could ask for exact numbers and names.

“It's not so important how many, pup,” Porthos interposed before Anne could answer. “Important is that we get to know some names so we can keep an eye on them should they pop up somewhere.”

“I'll give you the list tomorrow at the latest,” Anne said, rising to leave. “I must think about it.”

“Don't be angry with him, he doesn't mean it,” Athos said in a low voice, rising, too.

“I know.” Anne sighed, then said goodbye and left to pick up Henri.

“Seems we'll be getting a lot of work soon,” Athos said. “And then there's something that seems strange to me, something I don't understand yet. Who exactly told Richelieu of the contract between the French crown and Milady? Who told him that Anne gave order to have Gaston killed? For obvious reasons he could only have heard of it in this lifetime. We can eliminate Constance and if neither Anne nor my ex-wife told him about it, I wonder who did?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When the doorbell rang, Athos half expected to find Aramis outside, asking if he could stay. It really wouldn't be the first time the marksman had sought Athos' company late at night. However, it wasn't Aramis, it was someone Athos expected least of all to find in front of his door tonight. “Come in,” he said, holding the door open. 

“I was under the impression that you wanted to talk to me, given how many voicemail messages you left,” Milady purred, strolling by Athos with the arrogance of a cat who had been kept waiting outside for too long. “What do you want?”

Athos closed the door and followed his ex-wife to the living room. “Originally I wanted to ask you if you killed Gaston de Bourbon, Duke of Orléans in your former life – and by now I know the answer is yes – and if you told him who had sent you. Now I would like to know whom else you killed at the behest of the crown beside Gaston, the Duke of Buckingham and Maria de' Medici and which of your victims knew who had given you the order.” With a movement of his hand Athos offered Milady a seat on his couch. “And then I'd like to know what you know of the aforementioned people. Do you have any knowledge of their current whereabouts?” Athos sat down.

Milady had followed her ex-husband's monologue with growing worry, any playfulness and arrogance wiped from her face when she spoke. “Who told you all this?”

“Richelieu showed up in the office yesterday morning, informing us that Gaston seems to bear grudges against people like you and Louis and that you might be in danger. Anne told us about the contract she and you had and the service you rendered for her. So once again: What do you know of Buckingham, Gaston and Maria de' Medici?”

Milady remained silent for a while before she answered. “Buckingham is here in Paris. His name is – surprise, surprise – George Villiers, and I had an unpleasant encounter with him in England last year.”

“Is he the reason why you're here in Paris? Is he the reason you’ve regained your memories?”

With an appreciative look in recognition for his quick deduction Milady nodded. “I met him for a campaign, we had a meeting at his office and a few days later we met for a working lunch. He must have recognized me immediately, because he managed to poison me during lunch and when I realised what had happened he was long gone. I was lucky, I survived. Once I was in full command of my mental facilities again, I remembered everything. I quit my job, kept an eye on him and followed him to Paris. I lost track of him, he must have gone into hiding, but I'm sure he's still here. Unfortunately, I have no idea why he came here and what his plans are.”

“Then this is how you died back then? You got poisoned?” Athos asked quietly.

Unusually reluctant, Milady replied, “Yes, I think it was. I remember, suddenly feeling nauseous and cold, and then there was a burning pain in my stomach and I started gagging. That's the last thing I remember before everything went blank.“ She shook off the memories and returned to the here and now. ”As to whether he knows who was the string-puller behind his death, I can't say for sure.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Of course not!” Milady replied heatedly. “I may have been many things in my life, but I was never a traitor to the crown! Never would I have put Anne or Aramis' son in danger by telling anyone who had commissioned the deaths.”

Athos didn't remark on that even though he had registered her choice of word. Not Louis, not the Dauphin, not the young King, but Aramis' son. He wondered why she had said so and saved its closer examination for later. “And the others?”

“The ones you mentioned? Gaston certainly knew, though I didn't tell him either. He was clever in his own ways, I'm sure he knew who had sent me after him. He even begged for his life. Maria de' Medici? I can't say. She might have had a flash of inspiration shortly before her heart stopped beating, she might have drawn her own conclusions in the last seconds of her life about who had sent a killer. But there were too many people around her at the time, too many who would have been able to perform the literal death blow to her, however I dare say she might never have seen little Anne of being capable of such cruelty towards her mother-in-law.”

“Did you tell Richelieu about the contract you had with Anne and that you killed Gaston on her behalf?”

“No. We talked about the past, all right, but not this. He doesn't need to know everything, especially if it doesn’t concern him. I'm not some of his underlings any more.”

A silence spread between the two, Athos pondering what he had heard, contemplating the role his ex-wife had had in the queen regent's reign, the relationship between the two women and what all this meant for them now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Two days later_

“Athos, I need to fly to Spain. I have to see my sister and mother to make sure they are out of danger. I can't stop thinking about it. I must also speak to Marcheaux, hear what he has to say. I can't wait for him to be brought to Paris eventually.”

Athos looked up from his papers in surprise. “Have you spoken with Tréville?”

“Yes, he can’t fly to Spain to interview Marcheaux at the moment and he still can't give me a date when Marcheaux will be transferred to France.”

“I'm sure he pointed out to you that you won't be able to interview Marcheaux on your own? So what do you expect from it?”

“If he is willing to see me, I can speak to him as a visitor. I'm sure he'll agree to see me, if only to rub my nose in how easy it was to catch me off-guard. And even if I can’t see him, I need to see my family.”

“Will you take Anne and Henri with you?”

“No.”

Athos arched a brow.

“They'll be safer if the stay in Paris where you and Tréville can ensure their safety.”

“You can hear how lame this sounds, can't you?”

Aramis didn't reply, only glowered at his friend.

“Have you two talked about it? You can't let this get between you and Anne. Decisions she made then have nothing to do with what you two have now. You're being unfair. Sort this out before it starts to settle and fester.”

Aramis ignored the well-meant words. “I'll ring you when I've news from Marcheaux or Feron.” He hesitated before adding, “Keep an eye on Anne and Henri, will you?”

“Don't worry.” Athos watched Aramis leave his office and make his way to Porthos' room. At least Aramis had the decency to tell Porthos about his trip to Spain and bid goodbye. Maybe he would be able to talk some sense into his friend.

Athos turned his attention back to the papers on his desk. Anne had given him the promised list yesterday, and d'Artagnan had spent the whole day trying to find traces of their new targets. Thankfully, Anne's list was short. Beside the three people they had learned of so far and who seemed to be the most dangerous ones, there were only three more names on it. Two were some French nobility who had been at Louis XIII's court, their names largely unknown nowadays. It was hard to find them in history books at all. The last name was Spanish, Alsonso de Bracamonte y Guzmán, _tercero conde de Peñaranda_ , and Athos immediately knew this was a name they'd be wise to keep a close eye on. In his day, Alsonso de Bracamonte had been a close adviser to Philip IV of Spain, Anne's brother.

D'Artagnan had not been lucky with his further search. Buckingham, whose official name was Charles Villiers, was still resident in London, but there were no traceable bank cards or mobile phone activities for the last few months to be found. He was either using a false name or had access to bank accounts and mobile phone contracts they knew nothing of. His wife and daughter were in London, the wife working for a property agency service, the daughter attending university in Cambridge and often coming home for the weekends. Maybe this was an angle where they could draw on. Currently, d'Artagnan was trying to get access to the family's telephone line so that he could tap it. Given what Milady had reported, they were all convinced that Buckingham was in Paris.

Gaston was a phenomenon, he seemed to hop erratically, from location to location. One day he was reportedly seen partying at the Côte d'Azur, the next day he was giving an interview to a Czech magazine, then he disappeared for days or weeks. He was prominent enough to appear frequently in tabloids, but not important enough that paparazzi would follow him everywhere. However, the trace d'Artagnan found which led to Switzerland was very promising. They decided that Porthos would travel to Geneva and try to find out more about Gaston on site.

The name Maria de' Medici had not turned up at all, other than in a historical context.

“Athos!”

D'Artagnan's voice startled Athos from staring at Anne's list. He looked up in time to see the young man enter his office, sorting a few print-outs in his hands. 

“I've gone through the Medici family's genealogy and I might have found something. I'd like to fly to Florence to check some facts there. If they prove correct we have a trace and I could immediately check if it's her.”

Athos sighed. “That's great and you should do that, even if it means that I'm apparently the only one who is left behind here to deal with Louis.”

D'Artagnan grinned and shrugged his shoulder apologetically. “I'd like to take Constance with me, if that's okay for you.”

“Of course, why are you asking me?”

“Erm, because technically speaking you are her boss? She would need some days off for the trip.”

Athos stared at d'Artagnan; it had totally slipped his mind that in fact he was the one who had to approve staff requests for time off. “If it's okay for Charlène, it's okay for me. We won't have much work anyway if I'm the only one who's in the office.”

“Do I hear some self-pity here?” Porthos asked. He had come over, picking up the last words. “You can always accompany me to Switzerland if you like.”

Athos huffed a laugh. “Are you worrying that you won't come back alive if I'm not there to save your sorry behind? Still afraid of the Swiss?”

Porthos glowered at Athos jestingly. “As you will know, I've only ever been to Switzerland once, and that was four hundred years ago on that diplomatic mission to Berne, and so far as I recall it did not quite go as planned. There's absolutely no reason why I should trust them.”

D'Artagnan laughed, remembering how he and Athos had rescued Aramis and Porthos in time to save them from certain death as well as bringing the diplomatic mission to a successful conclusion. It had involved bears and a crazy woman, and d'Artagnan still wondered how they had managed to survive both.

“At least you'll be able to understand them, Geneva lies in the French-speaking part of Switzerland. If Gaston was hiding in Germany or Poland and you had to go there, you wouldn't understand a word.” Athos smirked.

Porthos grinned. “If someone doesn't understand me, I can always let my fists speak.” More seriously, he added, “I'm off in an hour. My train leaves Gare de Lyon at 2 o'clock and I need to pack a couple of things before I go. Are you going to be all right, alone with Louis and Richelieu breathing down your neck?”

“I have Tréville here for support. Just make sure you all come back alive.” He turned to the younger man. “D'Artagnan, no rash decisions, no risk, no going it alone, okay?”

D'Artagnan nodded. “I'll research what I have in mind and return as soon as I have results. I've no intention to face that woman again alone, believe me.”

They said their good-byes, and Porthos and d'Artagnan left to make their way to their respective destinations.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Porthos left the train station in Geneva, looking for a taxi to take him to his hotel. He had slept on the train and was not yet fully awake. Before he started making inquiries about Gaston, he needed a strong coffee, or two, once he had checked in at the hotel. He saw a taxi rank some hundred metres away and made his way over, shouldering his bag. He paid no heed to the small, elderly man leaving the arrival halls in his wake and trailing him to the taxi rank. Coincidentally, it was the same man that had entered the TGV in Paris a moment after Porthos, bringing both of them from Paris to Geneva in a little under four hours. One could get the impression, however, that this was no coincidence, but rather intention, and that the man was shadowing Porthos.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Three days later_

“And you have no idea of the current whereabouts of Gaston? Or any proof that he really remembers his old life?” Athos asked, keen to finish the meeting and get away from Louis and Richelieu.

He had called Richelieu two days before to arrange a meeting with Louis, and eventually the former Cardinal had called back and announced that Louis would have time to meet Athos that afternoon. Naturally, Louis was not willing to come to the office, but Athos was kindly asked to meet them at Louis' residence. Athos had been miffed at Richelieu and the way he treated Athos as still being one of the former king's underlings and had replied that after all it was Louis who wanted to get protection via Athos' firm and he would check his calendar to see if he had time to come. Then he'd hung up. He had talked to Tréville, the captain telling him with regret he would not be able to accompany Athos to the meeting but encouraging him to swallow down anger and pride and go. 

“No. That's why Richelieu thought it'd be wise to hire you. I thought your firm was offering exactly this kind of service; finding people no one else is able to trace,” Louis answered. “And no, I have no proof that he remembers, but I'm damn sure he does. It's the way he looks at me. Last time I saw him he had this kind of manner of making noises, a gesture here, a snide remark there. I'm sure he knows of our old life, he once yelled at my brother during a heated argument about some maternal heritage and how it makes him sick to be left out in the cold in every single one of his lives. It’s hard to understand this other than in the context of our former lives.”

“Okay. Porthos is in Geneva now, where we suspect Gaston to be. Hopefully, we'll soon know more. And this brings me to the next issue. At the moment, there's only me left in Paris, Aramis and d'Artagnan are also on assignment abroad. I won't be able to offer you personal protection, at least for the next seven or so days. Not until at least one or two of the others are back. If you need protection you must turn to your bodyguards, or whoever is responsible for your security here. I can offer you our service as soon as we are fully staffed again.”

“But you said you'd do the job,” Richelieu complained, glowering at Athos.

“No. I never said we'd do the job. I explicitly told you we were _not_ at your disposal for this. However, under the circumstances, we are willing to work with you, because we have the same goal. And this includes protection for Louis if he needs it, but only if we are able to offer it. And that will be as soon as the others are back, no earlier. Take it or leave it.”

“All right,” Richelieu answered, though he still looked anything but satisfied.

“I had hoped for more cooperation from your side but be it as it may. I'll accept your conditions. Just find Gaston and dispose of him,” Louis remarked arrogantly.

“We'll find Gaston, but it will be Tréville's job to decide what happens to him then. We cannot just kill someone without cause. And with cause I mean cause by law, self-defence or the like.” Athos rose and pocketed his notepad. “Just one more thing. Who told you of the role Milady de Winter and the queen regent played in the murder of Gaston?” Demandingly he looked at Louis and Richelieu.

“I didn't know anything about it, I only heard of it through Richelieu,” Louis said, looking at the older man.

“I can't say,” Richelieu said eventually.

“I won't accept such an answer. Either you tell us everything or you can look elsewhere for help.” Athos had restrained himself during their meeting, had swallowed down his anger about the arrogance both men showed, but now he couldn't keep it down any more. “If this is your answer, that's it. We're done with you.”

“I really can't say, because I don't know. I received an envelope with a note in it, anonymously. It simply read _'You might want to know that your former private assassin Milady de Winter was responsible for the death of Gaston de Bourbon, Duc d'Orléans, and quite a few more. Your successor being no less than the queen regent herself. Who knows who had a hand in your passing?'_ Or something along those lines.”

“Do you still have the letter?” asked Athos.

“No, I discarded it.”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Do you have any idea who could have sent you the letter? Any clues? And when did you receive the note, here in Paris?”

“No, I was still in London, some time last October I think. I had regained my memories a while before, otherwise I wouldn't have known what the sender was talking about. And I have no idea who it could be.”

“Too bad you didn't keep the note, we need to find out who did this. Anyway, I think we're through here. I'll let you know when we have new information about Gaston.” Athos turned and made his way to the living room door. There he turned again, addressing Louis, “I'll do anything in my power to help you. On one condition. You leave Aramis and Anne alone. If I hear one word that you approached Anne, or offended Aramis, this agreement is invalid.”

Louis stared at Athos for a time, glowering. Finally, he nodded. “Agreed,” he answered with a snarl.

With a last, warning glance towards Richelieu Athos left Louis' city apartment. Outside, he stood on the pavement indecisively, choosing between taking the metro or walking back to the office. Eventually he decided it would do him good to get some fresh air and have time to mull over the things Louis had told him. He turned left, walking along Rue Férou. A moment later a shadow peeled itself from the walls opposite Louis' residence and started trailing the departing Musketeer.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After ringing the doorbell, Athos pondered if it had been a good idea to visit Anne and Henri unannounced. He stared into the lens where he knew Anne would check who was outside and tried to make a friendly face. Admittedly, he had promised to look after her, but he could as well have just called to see if everything was okay. The truth was, he probably only hoped to hear how things between Anne and Aramis were now, and if Anne would disclose more of the reasons for handing out death warrants. The buzzer sounded and he pushed the door open. 

Anne was waiting for him at the door, smiling. “Evening. I hope it's not bad news that’s brought you here?” she asked, her gaze flickering uncertainly.

“No,” Athos replied when he reached the landing. “I'm sorry I didn't call before. I just wanted to see for myself that you and Henri are well. I promised Aramis to keep you both alive while he is bad guys hunting in Spain.”

“Well then, come in. We've already opened a bottle of wine,” Anne said, stepping back to let Athos in.

“Oh, you have visitors? I don't want to disturb,” Athos answered, already starting to retreat.

“Don't be a fool,” Anne said, grabbing his sleeve. “You'll be pleasantly surprised.” She dragged him in and closed the door. Leading the way to the living room, she said, “Milady de Winter and I were just talking about the good old times.”

Athos stopped dead in his tracks. Anne stepped sideways to reveal Milady sitting on the couch in the living room, a glass of wine in her left hand and an amused smile on her face. “ _Quelle surprise,_ ” she purred. “Good evening.”

Athos looked from his ex-wife to Anne and back. A smile slowly crawled from the corners of his mouth up to the corners of his eyes until it lit up his whole face. From deep within a laugh worked its way up until it resonated loud and clear through the room.

The ladies regarded Athos in astonishment, both trying to remember if they had ever seen him really laugh. Smirks they had seen before, as well as lopsided smiles or a grimace that could well pass as a display of cheerfulness. But this now was something totally different.

“I'm sorry,” Athos gasped, taking a couple of calming breaths. “This is just too crazy. My ex-wife, who incidentally was also a contract killer for the crown and within my recollection not on the best of terms with her majesty when Louis was still alive, the former Queen of France and my humble self, sitting together over a glass of wine and sharing stories. It's hilarious. It's..., sorry, but I never thought I'd live to see this....” Athos slumped down on the armchair. “And since I'm here now and you two seem to get along well, I'd really like to know more about this contract Tréville bequeathed to you and who we really need to look out for.”

Handing Athos a glass of wine, Anne smiled. “Well then…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_10 days later_

They were sitting in the meeting room around the big table which was littered with papers, photos, notepads, mobile phones, coffee mugs and plates with croissants, brioche and millefeuilles. Everyone was back from their task, d'Artagnan and Constance being the last ones who had returned the day before. During their trips they had shared the actual state of affairs, new information and results daily via phone and e-mails, but now that everyone was back they had come together to bring all the results in line, to see what they had and what they should do next.

“And there was no hint of recognition?” Athos asked after Porthos had finished his report.

“Not the least, I'm sure he didn't recognise me. If he did, then he's a very good actor. I arranged for the porter to address me as Count Porthos du Vallon when Gaston was standing right beside me, and he barely paid attention to me, just nodded a greeting. I managed to cross paths and speak with him twice more, and there was nothing, no reaction.”

“But there's the newspaper clip d'Artagnan found about a possible bullet wound Gaston might have sustained, and then the patient's chart from the Czech hospital treating him for exactly such a wound. Given what Milady told us about his cause of death, a wound like this should have triggered memories,” Athos declared. “Maybe we were just not important enough in the past that he had memorised our faces or names. To him, we were just some nameless, faceless underlings.”

“We must, in any case, keep a close eye on him,” Aramis said seriously.

“He's booked into the hotel in Geneva for two more weeks, let's hope he doesn't depart earlier,” Porthos remarked.

“Don't worry,” d'Artagnan said. “With the tracker you installed on his mobile and the bug you left in his suitcase I can trace him everywhere. And, by the way, that was very good work, Porthos!”

Porthos grinned. “Getting hold of of his mobile and breaking into his room was a doddle, but without your help I wouldn't have managed to install something on his password protected mobile, and without leaving a trace at that.”

D'Artagnan nodded, thinking of the long call he had had with Porthos, explaining him step by step what he had to do to allow remote access to Gaston's mobile and how to erase all electronic traces afterwards. “It was good team work.”

Athos regarded the young man with no small amount of pride. Without d'Artagnan's excellent technical understanding and his hacker skills they would often look like complete fools. He grabbed a photo from the table, holding it up. “We all agree that this woman here, who calls herself Catarina Maria Ottajano is most likely Maria de' Medici. D'Artagnan says he couldn't find anything indicating that she might have regained her memories, right?”

“That's right. I've gone through her medical patient data. She's only been to hospital three times, once when she was nine years old and had broken her left lower arm, and once to give birth to a daughter and then two years later to a son. Nothing in her records hints at anything extraordinary, like being poisoned, having had a heart attack or something similar. While I think this woman is the reborn Maria de' Medici, I can't find any proof that she might remember.”

“Do we have a current residence?” Athos asked.

“Her husband is registered in Spain, in Castelldefels outside of Barcelona, that much is sure. But I have no proof yet that she's resident there as well. I'm on it, though. The kids are both abroad, studying. There's also an address in Rome, but nothing indicating that she's there at the moment. Ottajano, by the way, is a branch descending from the Medicis, and Catarina is a descendant of Luigi de' Medici di Ottajano, so much for that.”

“Good work,” Athos acknowledged, stacking some of the print-outs and photos in front of him. “Stay on it, but I think we can leave Maria de' Medici for now. I don't think she poses a threat to us at the moment.”

“I agree, however, I wonder if it's just coincidence that she's living near Barcelona, the same city where Marcheaux absconded to, trying to hide there, and where Feron turned up,” Aramis threw in.

“That's a good point, but let's assume for now that it's really just coincidence,” Athos replied. “Let's keep an eye on her anyway. Tell us about your encounter with Marcheaux.”

Aramis sighed. “There's not much to tell. I was able to speak to him as a visitor, he was willing to see me. He didn't say anything of importance, he only uttered insults and mocked how easy it was to catch me and spy on my family. I'm sure, though, the Spanish police got hold of every one of Grimaud's helpers in Spain, so I think there's no danger to my family from this side. But I have the feeling Marcheaux works with or for Feron again, and I think he might know where Feron is hiding.”

“Did he let slip anything about him?” Porthos asked.

“No, not one word, but from the way he reacted and smirked when I mentioned the name, I'm sure he knows more than the police do.”

“Okay, maybe Tréville will find out more once Marcheaux is extradited to France. We can ask him later if he has more information on when exactly this will happen, he promised to come by as soon as he can slip away from the prefecture. Let's sum up what we have,” Athos announced. “We know the whereabouts of Gaston and, even if only roughly, of Maria de' Medici. The latter we can leave for the moment, Gaston is being traced by d'Artagnan, so we'll know as soon as he leaves Geneva and enters France. Marcheaux is imprisoned and should also not pose a threat. That leaves Feron, of whom we don't know if he has any agenda about us at all and no knowledge of his whereabouts at the moment. And it leaves Buckingham, of whom we know as good as nothing as of yet. My ex-wife is on to him, but we have no information so far if he's still in Paris and what he wants. What's certain is that he knows everything about his former life and is seeking revenge for his death. He has already tried to kill Milady. He may also know of the Queen's role in his murder and might try to kill Anne. He's the one we should concentrate on and try to find first of all. I think he's the most dangerous threat.”

Everyone nodded.

“I'd say we keep going with the respective assignments. D'Artagnan will trace Gaston and try to find out more about Maria de' Medici. Aramis, you will deal with Feron, see if you can unearth anything about the man. I know you already checked everything, but there must be something somewhere. Check the networks Grimaud and Rochefort had built up, see if there's any hint on Feron. You can also speak to Tréville about Marcheaux's transfer to Paris. Porthos and I will search for Buckingham. If he's here in Paris, somebody must have seen him, must have dealt with him. Questions?”

There were none, and everyone gathered his papers and started filing out.

“D'Artagnan, a word please,” said Athos, before the young man could leave the room as well. “How are things going with Constance? Has she regained more of her memories?”

D'Artagnan sat down again. “Yes, she has. I told her a lot of stories from the past, and sometimes she could finish them on her own, or parts of them. She says it's more like she has a feeling for how the stories went on rather than remembering them clearly, but sometimes she has short flashbacks. It's arduous, but I think step by little step she's learning more and more from her past. It's not the same as waking up and remembering everything, but I think it's all we can ask now.”

“I see. I'm convinced it will become easier, don't worry. Did you have a nice time in Florence?”

“Yes!” D'Artagnan beamed at Athos. “I love Italy, and even working our way through the city archive was fun. We had a really wonderful time there.”

“I'm pleased to hear that,” Athos said, and he meant it sincerely. It was good to hear that the two young people were happy together and their relationship was not marred by the recent happenings. He couldn't say the same about Anne and Aramis and hoped the two would soon find a way to clear up the misunderstandings and doubts that had fallen like a dark shadow on their relationship.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Three days later_

Aramis and Porthos were waiting at the door for Athos to finish his work and join them. 

D'Artagnan had already left the office, muttering something about having to make a quick phone call and was probably pacing the pavement up and down by now, waiting for his older brothers to finally join him.

Athos nodded towards his waiting friends, bending his steps towards Charlène's reception desk instead of the door.

Porthos huffed and rolled his eyes, a pat on his shoulder interrupting his doing.

“Patience, my friend,” Aramis murmured. “Tréville said he's not even sure if he's going to be in time for the meeting, so there's no need to rush.”

Athos handed the secretary a sheet of paper. “Charlène, can you do me a favour and try to check this list for --” He was interrupted mid-sentence by the phone which started ringing. He gestured the older woman to take the call; he would need another minute or two to explain what he wanted. Whoever it was who called certainly was handled in half the time.

Charlène listened to the caller for a moment, not once replying to anything. Then she let the hand with the receiver sink, staring wide-eyed at Athos. “It was Lieutenant Danglard. He called to let you know that Detective Chief Superintendent Peyrer has been shot. He's been rushed to the hospital right now, but they don't think he'll make it.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“The job's done.” 

“Is he dead?”

“I didn't stay long enough to hear his confession, but I emptied a whole magazine into him, right in the chest. He went down immediately and I can tell you there was an awful lot of blood. I'd be surprised if he still lived when his head crushed on the pavement. You can always rely on an Uzi.”

“Well done,” Grimaud said and rang off. He knew how machine guns worked and the mess they left in their wake. Not without reason was the Uzi still the favourite submachine gun of every terrorist organisation across the world. They were so very reliable at any distance, and always deadly at close range. A satisfied smile spread on his face. “The game is on,” he muttered and raised his glass to salute an imaginary foe. With Tréville gone, he had free rein now to finish off the rest of them....

.  
.  
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_To be continued....._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested: The diplomatic mission to Berne Porthos refers to in this chapter I have borrowed from **M_LadyInWaiting** 's story _A different Perspective_. You can read the full story about the Inseparables' adventures in Switzerland (including dancing, poisoning, murdering, Aramis and Porthos in mortal danger and some very interesting facts about Athos' past, as well as a crazy woman and brown bears) here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5988055/chapters/13760014  
>  It's worth it, as are her other stories!


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